


The Treasures Of Man Are Not Always Riches

by MarvelsMenace



Series: The Seven Sins of Matthew Murdock [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, abrocados in love, drunk Matt, matt likes touching soft things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 04:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: Matt tries not to be greedy in his day to day life, but sometimes when he looks at Foggy, or has had a bit too much to drink, his mind has other plans.





	The Treasures Of Man Are Not Always Riches

Oddly enough, a large portion of Matt's greed has been assessed in past tense, when Claire has forced strong pain medications on him, or he and Foggy have had too much to drink.  It becomes sort of a game then, when he’s fallen into that fuzzy sort of mood where everything is soft and amusing and he just wants to hold something. 

There is greed when he’s sober though, when he smells someone interested in Foggy, when a client hugs him, leaving a layer of unfamiliar smells over the usual scents he expects in the day to day, the ones he expects on Foggy.

Drunk matt in college was greedy, usually coming home with and waking up from a pile of soft sweaters and other interesting feeling articles of clothing he had come across in the night and apparently acquiesced from whatever house was hosting, like some sort of nesting creature preparing for winter.  They had halfheartedly put up missing posters in the dorm buildings with a basket of the things to ease Matt’s day after guilt. 

Foggy always thought it was hilarious and it had started one of the longest running gags between them, where he lets Matt get just slightly more drunk than him and proceeds to hand him anything and everything to see what is “Mathew Murdock approved  
for the evening.  Their options were fairly limited in college, between minor possessions they had at hand in the dorm, or those of which the fraternity or sorority houses kept around.  Which is what is happening now, despite the fact that they are now grown ass adults who wear suits daily and have real adult jobs. 

Foggy’s distracted from his memories while acquiring another beer from his fridge by a solid _BANG_ from the direction of his bedroom, followed by very non-Catholic swearing.  Concerned that Matt’s managed to topple a piece of furniture over on himself, it takes Foggy a moment for his buzzing brain to comprehend the scene when he finally makes it to his bedroom doorway. 

Matt has managed to yank his sock drawer out of his dresser, wooden vessel abandoned.  He’s bent over picking up the balls of socks one by one, chucking the one’s not approved for whatever reason behind him, while piling the #approved ones in his arms.  Foggy notices that the bulk of the discarded ones are the lumpy wool things he always gets for Christmas from his aunt.  The swearing seems to be stemming from the fact that in his drunken confusion, he cannot hold onto his arm full of socks, and seems to drop a pair whenever he picks up one, creating a vicious loop of give and take that has a small growl building at the back of his throat.

Foggy goes back to try his hand again at acquiring a beer, fully believing he would need it once Matt managed to sniff his way into his closet.  After the short return trip, he settled into the plush arm chair he had crammed into one of the room’s corners to watch Matt’s activities like some sort of nature documentary.  He’s placed the socks in little fuzzy piles around the pillows at the head of the bed, like small clusters of Easter eggs. 

“And here we observe the Matty Matt Cat building a nest, notice how he collects the tactile objects he prefers before depositing them in his den, avoiding those with an unsavory texture.”

Matt gives him the finger as he relocates himself, finding a new position by his now only partially bare bookshelf, the fingers of his opposite hand stroking with a sort of reverence down the spines of the small collection on the upper shelves.  Foggy had gotten most of them post law school, the empty shelf he had been given second hand from Marci looking forlorn without any books on it. 

“Hey Matt!”

Foggy tries for his attention halfheartedly and he thinks, that this might be the first time they’ve done this since he’s learned about the severity of Matt’s day to day life with his senses, their grip on his psych and his body.  He whistles sharply to try again for Matt’s attention, now lingering on a leather-bound first edition that Foggy had spent way too much money on after getting his first lawyer paycheck, fingers gliding silently over the raised text of the title. 

Matt’s head jerks in his direction at the sharp sound, and he juggles the book to one hand, his free one rising almost without a thought to catch the small object Foggy tosses his way.  He crosses to the bed on bare feet as he rolls the thing in his hand, skin sticking ever so slightly against the aged wood floor below his step as he deposits the book amidst a small multicolored pile of disaster in the center of his bed.  Foggy’s coat is there with the socks and a few of his flannel button up shirts he sometimes slept in when he didn’t feel like doing laundry.  He paws at the new item in his hands, touch gentle as he takes in the texture before pressing with a firmer touch to get a sense of the material. 

“ ‘s this?”

His feelers he thinks, as Foggy had once called them, unknowing how accurate it truly was, and a snicker of amusement buzzes in his nose at the memory.  He’s obviously puzzled, and that in itself makes Foggy snort.  Matt presses a bit harder, finding minute lines unyielding plastic stacked beneath his touch, the raised bumps forming what he thinks must be braille, but before he can confirm, it slips from his hands to bounce and tumble beneath the bed.    Matt is on his hands and knees, reaching amidst dust bunnies for the elusive thing when he gets distracted, the soft smell of vanilla and his memories of sunshine pull his focus.  He takes the thing with him, it’s interesting, but not in the almost lure like way that the small walk in closet is. 

Foggy all but chokes on his beer when he looks up from his phone to see Matt inch worming his way into his closet, head already buried in the lower rack where his slacks hung a few inches off of the floor.  He isn’t surprised to see him sniff his way into the small cubby in the shelf on the right that held his folded sweaters and selection of lazy clothes.  Soon enough, Matt has them all in a bundle beneath him as he scooches back across the floor, a trail of stray knitted clothing in his wake.  Those that stay with him make it up onto the bed, soon followed by an uncoordinated Matt.  It’s like a bird he thinks, gently playing the collected objects around him to his liking.  It’s only more amusing when he all but faceplants into the center of it, breathing heavy to take it all in.

He resigns himself to sleeping on the couch, not too bothered, but knowing damn well he’s too old to crash on the floor of his room.  He’s left Matt to his nest of approved items, having inspected enough that he knows there isn’t anything breakable or damaging unless he chokes himself with a tie in his sleep.  Foggy tries to ignore that train of thought. 

He’s comfortably arranged on the couch for all of five minutes before the furniture shifts beneath him, Matt and all four of his muscled yet still gangly limbs are coming over the back of the couch to drape atop him like a blanket with hard edges  He’s fiddling with something, and Foggy is pleasantly surprised to find it to be the object he had tossed him earlier. 

“Matthew.  You and your drunk ass should be in bed.”

He pokes a finger into muscle covered ribs, sending the body above him into a fit of squirming that would have been very interesting to his lower half if he was about as half as tired as he was.  A calloused hand finds his face, pawing with less grace than usual from intoxication so it lands more as an open hand falling onto his face.

“What is this?”

He presses the cube shaped thing, he had worked that much out, into Foggy’s face.  It makes the man below go crossed eyed, eyes trying to focus in dim lighting.

“Cant figure it out buddy?”

Matt sticks his tongue out with the maturity of a five-year-old, following up with a small whine when Foggy only chuckles.

“Would I be asking if I could?”

Foggy hopes Matt can hear him roll his eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me what you got so far, I’ll help you out.”

He grumbles, but settles until he’s draped evenly over Foggy’s body, brows furrowed in concentration as he handles the thing.

“It’s plastic and pretty much square.  There’s components that make it square though, so it’s not solid.”

Foggy hums as he puts one arm behind his head to support his poor neck, the other coming to drape over Matt’s lower back as he passes the object from one hand to the other. 

“It’s divided into three by three.  Wait-“

Matt squints harder, and Foggy can almost see the gears turning in his head, as he presses more urgently at the sides of the thing. 

“One, three, five, two, six, four.”

Each side had a combination of others, and something pulled at the back of his mind.  He bit his lip, and by chance twisted his grip just a bit, revealing that a small slice of the thing rotated.  It played with it for a few more minutes until it finally clicked, a row of number lining up. 

“Holy shit.”

 “Language.”

Foggy’s voice is tired, so Matt palms one of his cheeks, gathering his attention.

“You found a braille Rubix’s cube?”

Matt begins his usual explorations, maybe assuring himself that Foggy is still Foggy, he isn’t sure.  Something squeezes in his chest at the thoughtfulness of the thing.  Foggy shrugs.

“The eighties were a great time, had many a range of entertaining object.  I saw one the other day and wanted to see if you could solve it, because I sure as hell couldn’t.”

Their foreheads touch as Matt leans closer, now trying to unravel the puzzle of how lucky he was to have Foggy in his life.

“So, you made one?”

A non-comital noise.

“I bought one, ripped it apart, and glued some 3-d printed chunks on it.  I’m not sure if that counts as making or modifying.”

“I’ll call it one of the nicest things anyone has done for me, how about that?”

Foggy presses up just enough to peck the other on the lips, settling back into the couch cushions after a moment.  Matt jerks back with a sudden thought and he’s speaking before he realizes he is, words earnest and searching.

“Can I be selfish?  For one question?”

Foggy hums in thought, tone cautious, but curious when he answers.

“I feel like I should be worried, but you’re substantially inebriated so.”

Matt bites at a piece of skin at the edge of his thumb nail, hating how it grates and catches on the material of Foggy’s shirt.  He’s stalling, kicking himself for being spontaneous.

“I heard you talking to Karen the other day-“

“Get out of town.” 

He slaps the other’s shoulder.

“Don’t be a smart ass or you don’t get to know my question.”

Foggy rocks his head from side to side, like he’s deliberating pros and cons.

“The way you’re dancing around this means that might be a good th-“

He’s cut off as Matt’s index finger presses to his lips, silencing him.

“As I was saying.  I overheard you talking about your lease coming close being up.”

Matt’s body has taken on a small tremor above him, and Foggy rubs a hand up and down his arm, trying to soothe him.  He has a pretty good idea of where this is going, even with his buzz, but he needs to make sure it’s something Matt wants.  In his mind, if he cant ask, maybe he isn’t ready.

“Yeah?”

“Well uh, my place has plenty of room, and it’s closer to the office.”

Foggy nods, humming in agreement.

“Yeah, that’s why I always cook there, and drop you off before I go home.”

There’s an agitated sort of noice from the man stretched out on top of him, and Foggy is fighting hard to keep from letting some of his amusement slip.  He’s sort of terrified, thinking of moving again, of meshing with Matt’s space, upsetting his routine, his ability to move around his own space.  But Matt is asking, he reminds himself.  He’s over there more than not anyways.  There’s no devil, or angel on his shoulder, just internal monologue that fizzles out when Matt opens his mouth again.

“Well I was thinking that my rent is pretty fair already, and you don’t seem to mind the billboard when you’re over, which is almost every day anyways.  We lived together well enough in college, and this way you wouldn’t have to wait at the corner until I get into my building anymore.”

He sputters at the last point, besides knowing damn well that Matt probably knew he waited for him to get inside, sometimes to wait to watch his shadow pass through the hall window on his floor before he crossed down the next few blocks to his apartment.  He was smiling above him though, knowingly and pleased about it.

“Spit it out or we’ll be here until the sun rises.”

Matt shakes his head with a quiet laugh.  Now or never, the chance to feed his greed, his want and need to have Foggy at his side.

“You should move in with me.”

He isn’t surprised when Foggy draws out the silence, but his heart is beating steadily, if only a bit faster than usual.  The blind man sighs dramatically before he finally answers, tone curious.

“You know, I think that’s more of a statement.  You said you wanted to ask me a question.”

The smack to his chest stings even through his shirt, and he surrenders, laughing under the onslaught of poking and prodding.

“Franklin Nelson, would you like to move in with me?”

Matt can her the grin when he answers and welcomes the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He’s still slightly drunk, but it’s taken on a lighter feeling like he may be floating with a fizzy fort of happiness.

“Why yes Matthew Murdock, I’d be happy to cohabitate with you.”

Their kiss is languid despite their cramped position, and Foggy is the one to finally break it, running a hand through the other’s thick dark hair. 

“Does this mean you’ll go to sleep now?”

Matt makes a noise, wiggling above him.

“But you-“

A sloppy and open mouth kiss on his jaw.

“Are out here.”

A peck to the side of his nose

“-and not in bed.”

He makes a high noise of laughter as Foggy toys with the ticklish curve of his ribs, the later rolling his eyes.

“That’s because my bed is now the nest of a very large, and partially blind crow slash spider monkey, and as such is filled with all of his nice feeling treasures.”

 Matt snorts, fingers tracing the line of his smile in soft cheeks until Foggy nips at the tips of his fingers with his front teeth.

“But you’re my favorite feeling thing.”

And oh, if that doesn’t make his chest squeeze with an off-kilter _thud thud thud_ of his heart, something that the idea of them moving in together didn’t even cause.  Matt must feel his blush, sense the warmth as the blood rushes to the skin’s surface in his face, his free hand helping to mush his cheeks while chapped lips rise to pepper his face with uncoordinated kisses.  He presses his nose against the softness of Foggy’s cheek, voice muffled as he gets distracted by the line of his jaw again.

“ _Fooooooggggggy_.  Come to bed.  Be my bird wife.”

Foggy all out cackles at the absurdity of the sentence, a full body laugh that jostles Matt and has his fingers gripping his upper arms to keep from being thrown off the couch. If he told his college self that he would be dating his unfairly attractive roommate who also had super powers, he would have called bullshit.

“You just want me for my body heat.”

Matt snuggled closer, limp as a cat in the sun.

“It’s a bonus.”

Foggy rolled his eyes, pushing lightly against Matt until he can sit up.  The room spins a bit, but his feet on the floor grounds him. 

“Fine, fine.  Considered me courted.”

Matt clings to him as they both stand, leaning his weight as Foggy helps to move them around the furniture of his apartment.  He chuckles as he trips over the edge of a rug.

“Want me to carry you to bed?”

“I don’t even know if I would let you carry me sober.”

He lets Matt push him down onto the bed though, lying still as Matt shifts over the night’s treasures until there is just enough space for him to curl against Foggy’s side beneath a spare blanket.  He presses his face to the soft expanse of his stomach, finders sliding beneath the material touch the velvety skin hidden there.

He thinks, as Foggy rubs a hand over his back, that if this is being greedy, then maybe it isn’t such a bad thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)


End file.
